


is that my shirt?

by dnbroughs



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes, richie is a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 18:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnbroughs/pseuds/dnbroughs
Summary: stan wears richie’s t-shirt. richie has a revelation.from a tumblr prompt.





	is that my shirt?

Richie groaned as he opened his eyes, his hand immediately coming up to cover them from the harsh glare of the morning sun as it penetrated his cheap nylon curtains as his head thumped violently. The events of the night before were reeling in his mind, and he curses past-Richie for being too liberal with the vodka shots.

Through his splitting headache and sleep filled eyes, Richie could just about make out he bodies of the other losers: Eddie was curled up next to his wardrobe, his head against Bev’s shoulder and her legs thrown over his lap, Mike was lay flush on top of Ben at the foot of the bed, and Bill was sprawled out next to Richie, snoring loudly, his long arms almost pushing Richie from the bed.

The only person Richie couldn’t see was Stan, but the fuzzy feeling lying dormant in Richie’s mouth was much more pressing than the whereabouts of the curly headed boy. If his memories from the previous night were anything to go by, Richie wouldn’t at all be surprised if Stan had got up in the middle of the night- well, early hours of the morning, by the time they got back in- and left.

All of their awkward dancing around each other seemed to have come to a head last night when they were, literally, dancing around each other. All Richie can remember is a pair of hands on Stan’s hips that weren’t his own and grabbing a body that wasn’t Stan’s, and then the next thing they were having a screaming match in the bathroom and their faces being dangerously close together, until Ben had wandered in and the pair jumped apart.

After that, Stan had refused to look at him, and despite not knowing why they had argued in the first place, Richie knew that it was probably for the best, the alcohol in his blood making his tongue loose and reckless.

If you we’re to ask Richie how he felt about Stan, he would answer honestly; he has no fucking idea.

They had grown up together, climbed their first tree together, cut class together. Stan had always been like a brother to Richie, no matter how well he knew Bill or no matter how well he knew how to calm Eddie down. He had always hoped, no matter what happened between the lucky seven, that they would always still be Richie and Stan. But now… now Richie wasn’t so sure. He would never want to do anything to jeopardize the relationship they had, but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so when all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss his best friend.

He groaned again, throwing the scratchy quilt from over his body and carefully started to maneuver around the sleeping bodies on his bedroom floor. After quickly brushing his teeth to get rid of the dry, stagnant taste in his mouth, Richie sleepily clambered down the stairs, intent on starting his quest for a half full bottle of Advil in one of the kitchen cupboards when he found a figure standing at his kitchen sink, hair wet and wearing clothes they certainly should not be wearing.

“Ummm.” His mouth supplied, making the person turn around, drying a mug in their hands. It seemed that Richie had solved the case of the missing Loser.

“Morning, Rich.” Stan greeted quietly, offering Richie a tight smile that instantly indicated he remembered last night just as well as Richie did, but the taller boy wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixated on the worn, faded t-shirt that engulfed Stan’s slight frame.

“Is that my shirt?” he blurted, his face turning red as the words left his mouth, and he watched as Stan looked down at his clothes in confusion.

“Uh, yeah I think so. I spilt something on mine and I didn’t wanna put a dirty shirt on after showering. Is it a problem?” Stan asked, his voice uncharacteristically small, and Richie found himself moving closer to Stan, his hand coming up to finger at the hem, rubbing the thin material between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s not a problem.” Richie murmured as Stan’s breath caught in his throat

“Richie…” Stan warned, carefully placing the mug onto the draining board as he bore a hole in the side of Richie’s head.

“It’s not a problem, Staniel. I mean, what’s a t-shirt between friends?” he muttered, moving even closer to Stan, unintentionally trapping him against the kitchen counter as he played with the edge of the old band shirt while Stan stood rigid in front of him.

“Richie-” he sighed, trying again to get Richie’s attention, but Richie cut him off with his distracted rambling.

“And it suits you, like, really suits you. Shit, as if I couldn’t stop thinking about you before…” Richie mumbled the last part of his sentence, but if the hitch in his breath was anything to go by, Stan definitely heard him.

“Richie.” he whined, grabbing the hand attached to his shirt to get Richie’s attention.

Blue met brown in a dangerous, lazy dance, and Richie thought Stan was going to shout at him again. The apology was on the tip of his tongue, halfway out of his mouth when Stan leant forward and pressed his lips against Richie’s.

The kiss was over before it again, sweet and fleeting, yet Richie felt his heart in his throat and his whole body felt like it was on fire. He stared back at Stan, agog and frozen, until his brain caught up with the rest of his body, and then he was surging forward and kissing Stan fiercely, his arms easily looping under Stan’s ass to haul him up onto the counter.

Stan’s arms rested in Richie’s hair as his legs settled around his waist. He sighed contentedly through his nose as Richie’s tongue poked at the seam of his mouth, and Stan happily obliged, letting their tongues move lazily together, a small gasp escaping Stan as Richie pressed his cold hands on Stan’s hips under his shirt.

Stan leaned his forehead against Richie’s when he pulled away, a grin immediately splitting his face when Richie started to pepper kisses down the side of his jaw.

“Now Stanthony, as much as I like seeing you in this shirt, I rather think it’d look even better on the floor.” Richie declared, his shitty English accent making a laugh bubble in Stan’s throat.

“Fuck off, dick.” he giggled, tightening his ankles to pull Richi closer to him.

“That’s my name.” Richie chuckled, placing a chaste peck to the side of Stan’s mouth where it curled into a smile. “You love it, really.”

It would take Stan another few months to admit it, but yeah, he really did.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr @d-nbroughs !


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